


A Taste of Love

by kayisdreaming



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: F/M, Non-Blue Lions Route, Post canon, Pre-Established Relationship, some bed cuddles but nothing explicit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-07
Updated: 2020-05-07
Packaged: 2021-03-02 17:34:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,561
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24050659
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kayisdreaming/pseuds/kayisdreaming
Summary: No matter how far Felix travels, he always finds his way back to the opera house, and back to Dorothea. For Dorothea, no matter how long he's gone, she's always waiting for him.
Relationships: Dorothea Arnault/Felix Hugo Fraldarius
Comments: 5
Kudos: 39





	A Taste of Love

It's moments like these that make Felix certain that _this_ is what the Goddess' voice sounded like. A melody that caresses him, resonating in every bone, every fiber of his being. Like a healing balm on the soul, making even the ever-present tension between his shoulders relax. Making every ache feel so far away.

He doesn't need to be present for the song to have this effect. He can see this opera when he closes his eyes, hear it when he is just about to drift to sleep. He doesn't need to take his place in the back of the opera house to enjoy it, doesn't need to lean against this pillar to avoid notice.

But he does anyway.

A smile threatens on his lips as he watches her eyes scan over the audience. He knows that she does this every time--regardless if he's there or not. It's meant to connect with her audience. Make them audience feel important. Or something like that; he can't entirely recall.

There's something magical when Dorothea's gaze catches his. Her seeking stops, emerald eyes absolutely enrapturing as she sings as if her song is only for him. It's as if they're the only ones in the world, like he's the only one in the audience she could ever--would ever--care about. She sings with more passion. Moves with more feeling. She's stunning.

When the curtain closes, he turns to leave. He has to beat the monotonous drone of nobles that otherwise will be impossible to bypass. They gossip and bicker and say an insufferable number of platitudes just to waste time and gain reputation. It's the primary reason he stays to the back of the building, even if it means he can't fully enjoy the opera.

Not that it really matters. The _opera_ isn't what he's here for.

He knows the side entrance she'll leave from. It's always the same one when he's here. She probably knows he'll otherwise lose his patiencejust trying to chase her. Not that she's ever really shied away from the chase. But it's been . . . discouraged. . . on the first day of his visits.

His hand comes to his sword's pommel as he rounds the corner outside the opera house. Duels he can handle. Battles he can handle. This . . . this is intimidating, nerve-wracking. If he makes the wrong move, it will ruin everything.

He exhales, breath a little shaky.

As expected, her swarm of followers is already there. Fluttering around like insects, desperate to get her attention before her door even opens. New fans, old fans, fanatics.When she appears, their fervor is so intense that it's difficult to tell the difference between them. They're absurdly overenthusiastic, shouting as if their obsession might make them special in her eyes.

It's won't happen. They love the persona that smiles at them, not the person beneath.

A part of him wants to just challenge them all to a duel to _force_ them to leave. But he knows well enough that she would loathe it, and by extension, him (he'd offered one time, and she threatened never to speak to him again). So he has to watch and wait.

Felix leans against the alley wall, arms crossed, and does just that. His jaw clenches as her audience crowds around her. The harder it is to see her face, the more his hand clenches and unclenches in his sleeve. He has to be patient. He has to wait. It will end. It always does.

It wouldn't be so irritating if it wasn't always the same. The same offering of roses and jewels and other useless trinkets. Of free and elegant dinners. Most everything she declines--anything of real value at the very least. Other things she can't so easily refuse--poems practically shouted at her, her own songs parroted in pathetic mimicry of the original.

It's expected, obvious, unchanging. And still he tolerates it as poorly as he did the first time.Any relief from her performance is gone. He tries to relieve his energy with the tapping of his foot, but even that is a poor remedy. Why she wastes her time is well beyond him.

A half hour later, and only two pruning peacocks are left. They're practically standing on top of each other. Very nearly shouting in the hope that they might be heard. It would be rather gratifying for them suddenly to go hoarse, but Felix's experience with dark magic is pitiful at best--and Dorothea would not appreciate it.

"I truly appreciate your time," Dorothea's voice is practically song, "but I have to attend a dinner with Dame Casagranda before our next performance."

It's only now that Dorothea even looks at Felix. That she's so much as acknowledged him. Which makes sense, in some twisted manner. If she shows favoritism, she loses fans. Though certainly she could afford to lose these.

They beg and bargain and proclaim all sorts of promises meant to dissuade, but even they must know it's useless. If they have half a brain, anyway. Which is getting more and more debatable by the second.

Her smile is unshaken by their platitudes. "If you will excuse me."

She goes to walk down the alley, every step confident and certain. She'll pass Felix, of course. Wait until she's well out of obvious view of pursuing fans before she even pauses for him to catch up. If he accompanies her past that point, he'll be seen as a casual bodyguard. Her reputation merits the use of one, to an extent. And his reputation fits well enough for that role.

But she's stopped before she can even make five steps. One of them grab at her arm, grip firm. Unrelenting even as she pulls away. Not quite bruising, but the threat is certainly there.

Dorothea tries to keep the motion casual as she pulls back, but even Felix can see the little taste of panic. See it in the rise of her shoulders, the way her breath quickens. She could absolutely obliterate him with her magic, that much is clear, but it would likewise destroy her career.

With a sigh, he steps in, letting a hand rest on the pommel of his blade. "You're Miss Arnault?" He asks, trying to keep his voice sounding unaffected. It's harder than he anticipates.

Dorothea's gaze flicks to him, expression a strange mixture of conflicting emotions. Primarily murder, though he isn't entirely sure if it's for her attackers or him. "I am."

"Dame Casagranda sent me to fetch you." Slowly, the other men look to him.

He can feel them sizing him up, their gazes far from subtle. Probably wondering if he's worth even a consideration. Certainly clueless that he could decimate them without breaking a sweat.

He clears his throat to push that thought away. "She said I would be paid extra if I cut down anyone foolish enough to make you late."

One flees--clearly the only one with brains. But not her captor.

"Ah." Dorothea's lip twitches, but that's the most she offers him. "I should really be excused, then."

The man is undeterred. "One dinner. I will let you go if you have a dinner with me."

Dorothea's glance is casual, but her tone is anything but. "Knowing Manuela, she really did offer to pay him." Her voice is dark, like the villains she faces on the stage. By the twitch of the man's expression, he's noticed."Last time a man lost a hand."

Felix's grip curls around his hilt. It's quite clear this man wouldn't miss an appendage or two. Might even be willing to pay that price to gain some sense. And Felix has no qualms about taking that payment. Quite possibly it might even improve his mood.

The edge of Felix's lips curl into a smirk.

The man's attention snaps to Felix. He's no comparison to those Felix has had to contend with--barely above an amateur. "We'll . . . have this conversation again later." The man says, slowly uncurling his fingers and releasing Dorothea.

She steps away immediately, spinning as if she were at a dance. Smile on her lips, anything but pleasant. "I'd rather not."

The man's crestfallen expression is _almost_ satisfying.

"Shall we?" Dorothea's tone is sickeningly sweet as she walks by him, making even Felix flinch.

And he thought he'd done rather well.

With a huff, he follows after her, keeping this irritating stranger in his periphery. There are plenty like that man in the country. It doesn't matter what lesson they've learned, or what trials they've been exposed to--eventually they'll rationalize it and return until either they are dead, or the prize is theirs. Felix has no doubt that it won't be long until he tries this ploy again.

With the current evidence, he's not entirely sure Dorothea can handle it.

"Where's the sword I gave you?" He asks, keeping his voice low as he falls in line with her steps. It's late enough that not many people are on the road. But it hardly takes more than one person to become a problem.

"Felix," if the frown on her face didn't scream _you're an idiot_ , the tone in her voice certainly did, "I can't just go around carrying a sword everywhere."

 _[I do]_. He sighs. "He wouldn't have bothered you if you did."

"And where would I put it? Hm?"

He opens his mouth and closes it again. As much as he'd hate to admit it, she has a point. The sword is a good safeguard for her home, where it's easy to take and defend against intruders (well, at least without setting the furnishings on fire). But out on the streets, it's hardly the aesthetic she's worked towards. Everything she wears is, on a practical level, meant for free movements and grace. On an aesthetic level, it's . . . form-fitting to say the least. A sword doesn't exactly manage either.

"A dagger, then." He tries. "In the east, they have some meant to slide into garters. I can--"

"Felix, I'm hungry." She interrupts, pulling at his sleeve with one hand, while the other points to a restaurant across the street.

He reminds himself to return to that topic later as his eyes follow the direction of her finger. It's a small little restaurant, hardly even noticeable among the far larger buildings beside it. It's hardly even considered by those who pass it by, likely confusing it for a residence or some sort of side-shop. He would hardly be able to tell it's open, if he didn't see the figures moving just on the other side of the glass windows. A decent smell follows the wind toward them, but it's not overwhelming.

Dorothea wouldn't recommend it if she didn't like it--if Manuela didn't drag her out there in one of her drinking escapades. And, from a tactical standpoint, it's perfect. No one's going to expect an opera singer in a diminutive shop.

He hums a response, noncommittal. He's not particularly hungry, but he has no doubt that she is.

"Your treat." She says with a smile, pulling him across by his sleeve.

Not like he hasn't already planned on that. Not that she's suffering for the money--he knows very well she _isn't_ \--but it's partly on principle and partly because his latest missions were very much fruitful.

"Alright." He mutters, like it had been thrust upon him.

Dorothea is all charm as she enters the restaurant. It barely takes a smile for her to get a table she wants in the back of the room, well out of the view of the entrance. He's pretty sure the waiter would collapse if she so much as winked.

It's fairly clear to Felix that they have a faint clue of who she is, but that they've never seen her in her splendor. For, while it seems by the quality of the decor and seating that they're certainly not suffering, they're not quite to the amount of money required for something so frivolous as an opera seat. They whisper amongst themselves, but he can't sense any malice or impending trouble. It's tolerable, at the very least.

And the rest of the restaurant seems safe, at least as far as he can tell. There aren't many patrons here, and most of them look too focused on their own meals to look here. A few glances come over, but they seem more clueless than the staff.

So there are no threats, and yet his nerves are still coiled. Like something might appear at any moment, force him to react unprepared. It's foolish, ridiculous. And the fact that she isn't talking to him really _really_ doesn't make him feel any more comfortable about this situation.

He rubs at his temples in frustration. It does nothing to calm him, or soothe the growing ache. Her music had done well to keep both at bay, but now . . .

"He'll have the steak and potatoes." Dorothea muses, voice ringing into the silence and absolutely not helping the ache. "I would like your . . . oh, the fruit and cream looks good. One of those, please."

He exhales something that's very nearly a laugh. So much for her actually having a proper dinner. To a point, he doubts she was even really hungry. Probably just wanted a place to rest, or hide from her fans, or--

"Why do you always get involved?" Though Dorothea had certainly sounded angrier sometime in the past, this was probably pretty high on the list.

He blinks slowly. The question doesn't match her annoyance. "What."

"Despite what I said--the _one_ thing I asked, Felix--you _always_ step in."

A scowl immediately dominates his expression. "Do you want me to stop?"

"Look," she crosses her arms, falling back into her chair, "it's just annoying that you don't think I can defend myself."

"I was besideyou in war. Watched you incinerate creatures five times your size." He growls. "I _know_ you can defend yourself."

Her frown only deepens, shifting from a pout into something far more serious.

Even with her, he can't maintain eye contact for long. He has to look away. To watch the people off on the other end of the room, chatting with each other. Smiling. Things so much easier.

"I didn't want you to waste your time." He mutters. It's his fault it's harder. It's always his fault. "But clearly I was wasting mine."

"Feli--" Dorothea is cut off by their plates being placed in front of them. Felix doesn't have to look to know how she smiles at the waiter. Puts on a face to make everything seem more okay. Felix probably looks downright dour in comparison.

He doesn't even wait to listen to what she's telling the overeager waiter. He's recognized her, that much is obvious. But, as she doesn't want his help, she can handle it on her own. He cuts into his steak and takes a bite.

Oh. Right.

He takes another, but it's entirely flavorless. The texture is there, sure, and the smell as well. But there's no flavor. And he's having a hard time even remembering what it _would_ tastelike. Well, sustenance is sustenance.

"Felix?" The scorn in her voice has vanished completely. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing." He mutters around the mouthful.

Her laugh is harsh, but it isn't cold. Disbelieving, maybe. "I'm not stupid. I know you far too well for that."

He can't deny it. In the last few years, he's shared more with her than with anyone else. Not that there _is_ really anyone else anymore.

It honestly wouldn't surprise him if he burns that bridge, too. Maybe it would be better if he did. If he embraced the only thing he was good at, cut off anything else. Perhaps it would spare him the--

A soft hand rests on top of his. It's warm, even through his glove.

"You're thinking about him again." Her voice is sweet, gentle. Not a melody, but soothing all the same.

He opens his mouth to argue, but he can't.

As much as he resists it, he can't unsee that boy at one of the last villages he'd been to. A blond, still so young and happy, even in the shadow of bandit raids. The smiles on his face as he greeted Felix. The nickname that he had used, despite Felix's protests. His face as it was drained of blood, betrayed at his broken promise.

In the same way, he can't unsee the other man who had shared a similar fate for Felix's choices. It's always been a lingering thought--a nagging memory--ever since that day. But things like this, things that make it jolt to the front of his mind, have a greater effect than he'd like to admit. It's . . . haunting--like a ghost that digs its claws into his shoulders, refusing to let him be free.

It only seems appropriate that this reminder has the same sort of effect that he had judged Dimitri for.

Slowly, he lowers his fork. Lets her remove his glove and entwine her fingers in his.

"Was it that obvious?" He mutters, lip curling as he scorns himself and his reactions. He dares a glance at her, though he still can't quite look at her directly.

She smiles. "It's only been two months since your last visit."

"I--" He flusters, ashamed, "I was in the area."

With a hum, Dorothea brings his hand to her lips. It's a soft brush, a gentle kiss. The heat shoots straight up his arm and to his face in a bright blush. Her eyes practically glimmer with a fond amusement. "There aren't any jobs out here."

Before he can manage a protest, there's the soft vibration of humming against his fingers. He quiets himself, listening intently. It's so soft that he can barely hear it. But his body knows; his soul knows. It's a song of her own design, one she sings when it's only them.

A song he even hums to himself when it seems he's in a darkness he can't escape from on his own.

His exhale is shaky, unstable. He can't get it to level, even though he tries. His fingers curl around hers like she's the only thing that's keeping him from drowning.

"You should stay with me." She whispers, kissing the back of his hand. "At least until this feeling passes."

He swallows, mouth suddenly dry. "Absolutely not."

He can feel her smile against his skin. "Why not?"

"I-it might draw unwanted attention." He mutters. "That you didn't want."

"Well then . . . you did give me a sword. Buy me a dagger and we'll have nothing to worry about."

  
  


Light just barely peeks in through the curtains, but it's enough to wake Felix up. Just enough to keep away the lingering remnants of sleep. But he's not particularly inclined to get up--it's certainly early and the bed is warm.

And the body beside him is even warmer.

With a small sigh, he rolls to his side, wrapping an arm around Dorothea's waist. His nose tucks at the nape of her neck, pressing small kisses right between her shoulders. He's had enough practice to avoid getting her excessive number of curls on his tongue or in his eyes.

"Oh," Dorothea's giggle is soft, still laden with sleep, "aren't you cuddly in the morning?"

"You're warm." He mutters, pressing another kiss.

"Well, I suppose that shouldn't surprise me." She practically sings. "You're always so cold. So many layers it's almost too hard to find you."

He snorts a near-laugh. "Most of the time I'm not in Enbarr."

"You could be." She turns in his arms, pressing small kisses along his jaw as her fingertips brush up on his chest. "I wouldn't mind if you were always like this."

He scowls down at her with a huff, but it's half-hearted. "I'd make an intolerable pet."

"Oh, you certainly are a moody one." She presses a kiss right on his collarbone. "But I know you'd do anything to hear me sing."

He flushes. Well, at least she knows him. He can't really imagine being stripped down this way with someone who _didn't_. He tries to act casual, winding one of her curls around his finger. "Will you sing for me?"

"You," she punctuates it with a nip, "need to work for it."

His fingers pause. "How so?"

"How about . . ." Her eyes practically shimmer as she looks up at him. That's never a good sign. "You sing for me, first?"

He immediately jerks away. It's very nearly a full-body revulsion. "Absolutely not."

"Aww," her arms wrap around his waist, "embarrassed?"

He can feel his face heat up, and he's in absolutely no place to hide it. But he can definitely try. "No."

"You're so cu-ute when you blush." She giggles.

He resorts to petulance. "I am not."

"You are!"

He hopes his frown serves as a decent enough answer.

"Oh, come on. It's just me."

"I'm horrible at it."

"I won't judge you."

She would, he knows that. And she'd probably tease him about it later. But it's something that he might not entirely mind. "Just . . . only for you."

There's something about that slight blush gracing her cheeks that makes his chest feel warm. The way her lips slide into something very nearly shy. The look in her eyes that makes him feel like the only one in the world.

His face is even hotter as he tries to sing one of the easier songs from her operas to her. He's off pitch, and the rhythm is all wrong. He's far worse than the nobles trying to serenade her. He half expects her to burst out in laughter.

But then she starts singing with him, and he finds he doesn't mind this half as much as he thought he would.

  
  


Enbarr is naturally a noisy city. So many people bump against each other. Brush past eachother. Yell and shout just for a chance to be heard. Step in the way just to be seen. It's almost overbearing.

But, up on the rooftop, all that noise fades away. Felix can very easily see why Dorothea likes to sit up here. Why she dangles her legs over the edge of a tall building, looking across at the Imperial Palace. At night, it's practically shimmering with the lights inside. With life slowly returning inside its walls.

Looking at it still makes Felix's chest ache, but Dorothea's head on his shoulder serves as a decent enough distraction.

"I have a question." She asks, passing him one of the skewers she bought from a street vendor.

"I can't stop you."

"Do you ever get jealous?" Her eyes flick up to him, a strange mixture of curious and wary in her expression.

He takes a bite. The taste is faint, but it's promising that it's there at all. "Jealous?"

"You know, when you see those other men around." Her fingers toy with the tassels on her dress. "Or when you're gone for a long time and don't know what I'm doing."

He considers around another bite. He does think about her, more often than he would ever admit. Sometimes he worries about her safety, even though he knows she's perfectly capable of handling herself. And he certainly thinks about her on those nights where he would otherwise feel unbearably alone.

But he's never worried if she's stopped thinking about him. If she's found herself in another man's arms. "You're an opera singer." He says with a shrug. "I figured the attention was part of your job."

Of course, there _is_ a difference between an adoring audience and a large group of men trying to get beneath her skirt. In theory.

He clears his throat. " _Should_ I be jealous?"

Her expression falls. She looks away, like she's afraid to see what might be on his face. Wrong answer, then.

"What?" He huffs.

"You know, most couples get at least a little jealous." She says, cheeks slightly pink. More like she's on the verge of tears than embarrassment. "Even if you don't think I'm cheating, maybe just jealous that others spend time with me?"

He blinks. He's the one who goes away, so he recognizes that it would be stupid to be mad at her for his choices. "Do you get jealous?"

"A little." Her blush deepens. "When I see you smile at someone else. I worked hard to get you to smile for me."

Ah, well, that was true. He had made an attempt to be slightly more amiable in the last few years. Partially it was because that made it easier to get jobs. But more often it was because he wanted Dorothea happy--he wanted her pleased when he at least was cordial with her friends, or when he made himself look somewhat pleasant in her company. He would hardly even bother if it wasn't for her.

He tips her chin with his forefinger so she looks at him. "I'm not jealous because I have no doubts how you feel about me. What should I do to make you feel the same?"

She twitches, shifting out of his hold to look away again. If it weren't for this situation, her blushing this much would be cute. "I don't know."

He sighs. He had planned for this to be more . . . appropriate. For when his mood had cleared, and he could properly tend to her wishes. But perhaps this is better, though certainly less tactful.

He reaches into his pocket, pulling out a small box before placing it into her hand. "Would this do it?"

"What is it?"

"Just open it."

Felix can't bring himself to watch as she opens the box. He glances down at the traffic below, watching the people go by. He knows he loves her, and that she loves him. But this is different. This is a different arrangement entirely. For him it's simple, obvious. For her . . .

"This is--Felix, you can't mean--"

He glances to the side, at the gold of the ring that glistens within the box. She hasn't taken it out, yet, so he doesn't know how to take it. So he looks away again.

"I know I'm not the noble you wanted." His words stick together awkwardly, mouth dry. He had this planned out and all that vanished the second he tried to grasp it. Perfect. And he was always _so_ good at improvising conversations. "And I'm away a lot as a mercenary. I understand if--"

"It fits perfectly." Dorothea nearly sings.

He looks to her perhaps more abruptly than intended, words completely forgotten and lost on his tongue. Dorothea is quick to take advantage of the situation, cupping his cheeks and kissing him. It's soft and sweet and gentle and absolutely wonderful.

"I know being gone is part of your job." She whispers against his lips. "So you just have to make up for it when you come back."

Felix hums an affirmation, mind still processing what words are. He leans in for another kiss, only to find her pulling away. He grunts in frustration.

"You always have to come back." She says, tone serious. "Even when you get into those dark places. You always have to come back to me."

With a sigh, Felix wraps his arm around her waist, pulling her close. "I promise." He says, pressing a kiss to make it more real.

**Author's Note:**

> As always, come bother me on Twitter [@kayisdreaming ](https://twitter.com/kayisdreaming)  
> Edit: ...my sister has informed me that the title makes this fic sound more explicit than it is (that is, not at all). I feel like I should apologize for any false advertising.


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